A Walk Across the Sun

by Corban Addison

  “Inspector Khan is incorruptible,” Dev replied. “The rest of his squad will take the path of least resistance. All of the constables take baksheesh from the pimps, but they’re afraid of Khan and will follow orders.”

  “How suspicious is Suchir?” Greer asked. “Will he check for a wire?”

  Deepak shook his head. “He’s never been raided. Word is he pays hafta to Chotta Rajan’s gang. He thinks he’s invincible.”

  The planning continued until six, at which time the team went out to dinner. They returned to the office at seven and piled into two vehicles for the forty-five-minute drive to the Nagpada police station. Nigel wished them success and stayed behind.

  During the ride, Greer placed a call to Inspector Khan. He learned that Khan had selected a team of six constables, or halvadars, to accompany him on the raid. To prevent any of his men from tipping off Suchir, the inspector hadn’t briefed them on the target. He would tell them on the way. Khan had also arranged for two panchas from another NGO to join them. The police would take three squad cars and two wagons. If they rounded up too many girls, they would have to shuttle them to the station.

  “Everything is coming together,” Greer told Thomas when he hung up. “Khan is living up to his reputation.”

  The drive from Khar to Nagpada took them through the heart of central and southern Bombay—through the Dharavi slum, bright with burning piles of trash and endless strands of bare bulbs, through the taxi-infested streets of Dadar West and Lower Parel, and into the crowded narrows of Nagpada.

  They parked on the street a block from the station and walked the rest of the way. Inspector Khan met them in the lobby and ushered them into a cluttered room furnished with metal desks and wall-to-wall bookshelves. He asked to see Deepak’s equipment, and the field agent opened a rucksack and took out a tiny video camera disguised as a ballpoint pen and the audio wire that he would tape to his stomach. Khan nodded. He reached into his pocket and handed Deepak an envelope.

  “Twenty thousand rupees,” he said. “I entered the serial numbers in my notebook.”

  Deepak passed the envelope to Jeff, who took out his notepad and counted the bills.

  “The panchas will be here soon,” the inspector continued. “My constables still don’t know anything. I will lock the door to this room. We will leave at a quarter to ten.”

  Thomas watched as Deepak put the pen camera and the wire in place. Both were so small they blended into his clothing.

  The panchas arrived a little after nine. They were Indian natives who looked about thirty. In passable English, the man introduced himself as Kavi and the woman as Mira. Rasheed briefed them in rapid-fire Hindi.

  Eventually, Greer checked his watch. “It’s about time,” he said. “I usually say a prayer before we go. Do you mind?”

  “Feel free,” Thomas replied. “I grew up Catholic.”

  Closing his eyes, Greer offered up a brief petition for safety and success. Then he looked toward the door where Inspector Khan had appeared. Khan summoned them to the lobby and introduced them to his men. There were six constables in the raid group. All were armed with wooden clubs, called lathis, and two of them wielded antiquated carbine rifles.

  The inspector raised his voice above the ceiling fans. “We will stay on Bellasis Road until Deepak sends the missed call. No one goes in before then. I will take the lead car. If anyone moves before I move, I will have his badge. Is that clear?”

  There were grunts and murmurs all around. The khaki-clad halvadars were nervous and fidgety, and two of them glanced sideways at Jeff and Thomas, barely veiling their contempt.

  Khan eyed each of his men personally. “It doesn’t matter where you’re from or what you feel about the beshyas. Think of the girls we’re going to rescue as you think about your own children. Do your job. Any questions?”

  No one spoke up.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  Chapter 9

  We have crossed to the far shore of this darkness; Dawn spreads her radiance like a web.

  —RIG VEDA

  Mumbai, India

  It was ten o’clock in the evening when the doorknob to the attic room turned. This time only Sumeera came for Ahalya. She sat alone on the bed, her hair disheveled and her face a mess of tears. Sita had been gone for twenty minutes, but to Ahalya, it felt like forever.

  As before, Suchir had appeared without warning and left with her sister. Ahalya hadn’t been surprised. She had spent the day in dread, knowing the hour was coming. Baba’s promises could not save Sita from the ways of the brothel.

  “Come,” Sumeera said, taking Ahalya’s hand. “You are needed for a customer. You mustn’t look so sad.”

  So I am going to be sold tonight, too, she thought. The horror of it left her numb.

  She dressed in her outfit of seduction and followed Sumeera down the stairs, bracing herself for the touch of a stranger’s hands. Only one beshya, the oldest and least attractive girl, stood in the hallway watching her. Most of the sex rooms were occupied. Ahalya examined each door she passed, listening for Sita’s voice amid the sounds of male pleasure. She clenched her fist. How can they do this to her? She is just a child!

  The man sitting on the couch in the lobby was young and bearded. Suchir stood near the far wall and switched on the lights. As before, Ahalya was dazzled by the radiance.

  “A true rampchick,” the man said, standing and walking toward her. “Suchir, you are always so discriminating.”

  “I will give her to you for ten thousand.”

  “So expensive, my friend? How many times has she been with a man?”

  “Only twice. She is very fresh.”

  So Prasad has kept the secret, Ahalya thought grimly. Suchir has no idea that his son has had me every night for the better part of a week.

  The man circled Ahalya and then stood in front of her. She did not meet his eyes.

  “I will take her,” he said at last. “But I want to use the upper room. It is more comfortable.”

  “Of course,” Suchir agreed. He glanced at Sumeera, and she left quietly.

  The man gave the brothel owner a wad of rupees and took Ahalya by the hand. “Come, my princess,” he whispered.

  Ahalya shuddered and followed in his wake. All but one of the doors in the hallway were closed, and she saw no sign of Sita.

  When they entered the attic room, Sumeera was straightening the bed sheets. She fluffed the pillows and went to Suchir’s side. The brothel owner wished the bearded man a pleasant adventure and closed the door from the outside.

  The man motioned for Ahalya to go to the bed and took out his mobile phone.

  “Just a moment,” he said, pressing the keypad once. He held the phone to his ear and then cut off the call. “No one home.”

  Ahalya sat on the bed and looked down at the sheets. She expected the man to unbutton his pants and caress her face as Shankar had done. Afterward, he would ask her to undress. But he did none of these things.

  “What is your name?” he asked gently.

  The question pierced her. Her name. The gift of her father—its meaning “non-imperfection.” Her namesake was a model of feminine beauty, the chaste wife of a noble Brahmin, seduced by the god Indra and cursed by her husband for her unfaithfulness. The parallels between her life and that of Ahalya of the Ramayana were striking, yet there was one profound difference—the Ahalya of old had been saved from the stone that bound her.

  “I am Deepak,” he went on when she failed to respond. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

  He sat quietly, making no move to touch her. She looked at him strangely, not understanding.

  Seconds later, a commotion erupted on the floor below. Thuds were accompanied by squeals and the troubled voices of men. Ahalya heard Sumeera issue urgent commands. At once feet pounded the stairs outside the attic room. Deepak went quickly to the door and braced it with his back. Someone turned the knob and tried to push the door open. When it held fast, a man—it sounded to Ahalya like
Prasad—cursed and threw his weight against the wood.

  Deepak grimaced but held firm.

  Thomas stood beside Greer and watched from across the street while the Nagpada constables moved in. Inspector Khan handcuffed Suchir without a struggle and then led three members of his squad up the steps to the brothel. After securing Suchir in a police wagon, the rest of the Nagpada squad entered the brothel with the panchas to take names and statements.

  Meanwhile, Greer and Dev had a brief exchange with the CASE field agents and gave Rasheed and Rohit the task of watching the nearby lanes for a backdoor escape attempt. They separated and disappeared into the crowd.

  Traffic on M. R. Road had slowed to a standstill as taxi-wallas and passersby fought for a glimpse of the action. Pimps and brothel owners stood on the periphery, gauging the seriousness of the threat. Murmurs of discontent began to ripple through the onlookers. Many regarded Thomas and Greer with suspicion, even outright hostility. The crowd began to press in, hungry for a confrontation.

  Dev looked at Greer. “We need to get off the street before this gets ugly.”

  Greer nodded and beckoned for Thomas to follow them. Anita brought up the rear.

  When the CASE contingent entered the brothel, the lobby was overflowing with people—police, girls, customers, panchas, and Prasad, who was hurling obscenities. When Prasad saw the Americans, he turned his abuse on them. He shoved his way through the bodies and planted himself in front of Greer. His clothing carried the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne.

  “Bhenchod!” he said, spitting betel juice on Greer’s shirt.

  Greer stepped back as one of the constables put Prasad in cuffs and forced him to take a seat in a corner of the room.

  Thomas stared at the young brothel lieutenant. He shook his head.

  “What?” Greer said, noticing the gesture.

  “I recognize him. He was on the street when we drove by a couple of days ago.”

  “You’re right,” Greer replied. “Interesting coincidence.”

  They followed Dev across the lobby to the sex rooms. Dev spoke to Khan, who was taking the statement of a young beshya cowering in one of the doorways.

  “Have you seen Deepak?” Dev asked.

  Khan shook his head. “He’s probably upstairs somewhere, but I haven’t had time to look for the passageway.”

  “May we?” Dev asked.

  “Be my guest,” Khan replied and turned back to the frightened girl.

  “I’ll get one of the panchas,” Greer said. Looking at Thomas, he explained, “This is the crucial step. Suchir will be open for business tomorrow if we don’t do this by the book.”

  After Greer returned with Mira, Dev walked down the hallway and opened each of the doors. All were identical, and it seemed unlikely that any of them led to a hidden chamber. He moved to the end of the hallway and examined the bookcase. He tugged at it, but it didn’t move. Greer circled him and ran his fingertips along the right side of the bookcase. He found nothing. Dev tried the left side and felt a weakness in the wood. He pressed down with his fingers and heard a latch disengage.

  “Got it!” he said.

  Khan joined them as Dev swung the bookcase outward. They peered beyond it into the murk of the stairwell. They heard the faint sound of a man’s voice in the distance. Dev went up the stairs with Mira, Greer, and Thomas on his heels.

  Dev knocked on the door at the top of the stairs. “Deepak?” he said. Inside the attic room, Deepak released his hold on the door. He turned to Ahalya, who sat motionless on the bed.

  “My friends have come,” he said. “You will soon be free.”

  Ahalya stared uncomprehending as a group of strangers—some in uniform, others in plainclothes—entered the attic room. An Indian woman came to her side and introduced herself as Anita. She took a seat on the bed and promised to stay with Ahalya until she was safe. Ahalya looked intently at the policemen in uniform. For the first time since Suchir came for Sita, she felt a glimmer of hope.

  One of the policemen approached Deepak and spoke words that Ahalya could not understand. Deepak shook his head. The policeman turned to Ahalya and spoke in the same unintelligible tongue. She stared at him blankly, and he switched to Hindi.

  “I am Inspector Khan of the Nagpada police,” he said. “We received information that there were two minor girls in this brothel, not one. Where is the other girl?”

  Ahalya looked into Khan’s eyes, thinking there must be some misunderstanding.

  “My sister, Sita,” she said. “She is downstairs.”

  Khan went to the door and barked an order. After a few seconds, another policeman appeared. They traded words, and then Khan turned back to Ahalya.

  “There are fifteen girls downstairs, but none of them is named Sita.”

  Ahalya’s hands began to tremble. She stared at Khan, trying to take in the implications of his statement. She stood from the bed and walked out of the attic room. Khan was so surprised that he made no attempt to stop her. She made her way downstairs, scouring the now-empty sex rooms for any sign of her sister.

  When she reached the lobby, she pressed into the crowd, searching the sea of faces. The beshyas were together in the far corner, but Sita was not among them. Ahalya pushed her way to Sumeera, who stood watching the frenzy with tired eyes.

  “Where is Sita?” Ahalya demanded. “What did you do with her?”

  Sumeera glanced around the room and then looked back at Ahalya. “She is gone,” she said simply.

  Ahalya shook her head fiercely, trying to ward off the truth. “No, you are wrong. Suchir came for her an hour ago. She was to see a customer.”

  Sumeera looked at the ground, saying nothing.

  A shapeless terror gripped Ahalya’s mind. She fell to her knees and began to rock back and forth. Tears streamed from her eyes and collected on her chin. She reached out for Sumeera’s sari.

  “Where did she go?” she begged, sobbing, but the gharwali failed to respond. “How could you?” she cried. “Have you no soul?”

  Sumeera gently pried Ahalya’s fingers loose. She knelt down and spoke the words quietly, looking directly into Ahalya’s eyes.

  “It is the way of Golpitha,” she said.

  Part Two

  Chapter 10

  In the dark of night live those for whom the outside world alone is real.

  —ISHA UPANISHAD

  Mumbai, India

  Forty minutes before the raid, Suchir had led Sita into the brothel lobby and greeted a man sitting on the couch. When Sita saw him she remembered him. He was the same man who had come the night before. He was wearing the same expensive clothes, the same silver wristwatch. A duffel bag was at his side. He stood and lifted the bag, nodding to Suchir.

  “One lakh,” he said. “The rest after the girl does her job, as usual.” He paused. “You can count it if you like.”

  “That won’t be necessary. You have earned my trust, Navin.”

  Navin nodded again and took Sita’s hand. “Time to go, Sita.” He pronounced her name in Hindi with the familiarity of a cousin.

  Sita stood uncomprehending and then pulled her hand away. “I can’t leave my sister,” she said desperately. “Please don’t take me away from her.”

  Navin looked at Suchir and then back at Sita. “Maybe I will bring your sister next time. But I have bought you today. If you submit, your life will be easy. No pimp, no madam, no sex with strangers. But if you fight, you will regret it.”

  He took her hand again and pulled her down the stairs to the dusty street, shrouded by night. A black sport utility vehicle was waiting at the curb. Navin opened the back door and gestured for Sita to get in. She shook her head, her eyes flashing with terror. With a sigh, he took hold of her shoulders and pushed her into the vehicle. She sat stiffly and cried silent tears.

  There was a large man in the driver’s seat, but he paid no attention to her. Navin slipped in beside the man and said, “New Bombay. George said ten o’clock. Do not be late.”
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br />   The driver grunted and accelerated down the narrow lane. They drove for many minutes before crossing a long bridge over a bay and entering another part of the sprawling city. On an unremarkable street corner buried in a warren of lanes, the driver pulled over and Navin got out with a knapsack. Through the window, Sita saw a gangly black man standing in the shadows, his hand clutching a cloth-covered package. Navin approach the man and spoke briefly. He handed the man the knapsack and took the package. Then he returned to the car.

  He glanced back at Sita. “Why are you crying?” he asked, sounding annoyed.

  Sita closed her eyes, afraid to look at him. She felt the night closing in on her. Who was this man? Why had he taken her away from Ahalya? The words found their way to her tongue before she could restrain herself.

  “Please let me go back to my sister,” she pleaded. “Please.”

  Navin shook his head and muttered an expletive. “Take me home,” he said to the driver. The large man grunted and pulled the SUV into traffic.

  Sita crossed her arms over her chest, suppressing the sobs that were so close to the surface. She watched the lights of the city, passing in a blur, and tried to ignore the package on Navin’s lap. But curiosity got the better of her when he unwrapped it. Inside the cloth was a plastic bag, and in the bag was brown powder. He unzipped the bag and took a whiff.

  “George must have been a Brahmin in another life,” he exulted. “His powder is like the Soma juice of the gods.”

  Drugs, Sita thought, feeling the terror return.

  They crossed the long bridge and returned to downtown Bombay. After they passed the international airport, they turned down a dirt road that led to a complex of flats. The driver parked the SUV, and Navin retrieved Sita from the back seat. She went with him without a word. The sight of the powder haunted her.